by Paul Hooker

Afterward he wondered while she slept

his face nestled in her hair—

the aroma of her coconut shampoo

transporting him to the lanai on Kauai

the Milky Way a smear in the midnight sky

has it really been a decade—

her breathing coming in and out of phase

to match the tempo of his own—

how much longer now it seems to take

his racing heart to regain its composure

from the least bit of physical exertion

was he getting old so fast—

how many perfect moments are allotted

to a man and was this one?